Category Archives: Virtualities

It all started with a professor, Dr. Dettwyler. She was my fave prof in the department mostly because she had a nerdy sense of humor and because she didn’t give a rat’s….tail about the misogynists in the department. Back when I was majoring in Anthropology, we had a few of the “Old Guard” who still believed women shouldn’t be in the field. Not that we weren’t smart enough, but rather they felt that the Perils of Gwendolyn would play out at any moment.

And y’all thought Anthropology was boring.

Anyway, one thing that simply fascinated her were skulls, of the human variety. It is said that some people have the map of a country on their face because that area has specific genetic traits. One day we were watching Quest for Fire (while laughing out loud) and she remarked that the one actor who fit well in the role was Ron Perlman, his skull being so perfect. Perfect?? Yep, the cheekbones, the brow ridge, everything was just perfect and she would just love to own his skull for Science. This was her segue into that particular lesson. And I became rather obsessed with mapping skulls ever since.

Now, I tell you that story so I can better explain what transpired yesterday. I’m not much of a high-brow person, and tend to like irreverent comedy (Mel Brooks is KING!!). Last night I was watching Let’s Be Cops because I could, and I had an epiphany.

ZOMG!!! Look at that skull!! Just look at it!!! Isn’t it just perfect??? How did I miss Rob Riggle’s skull before???

Me: My GAWD his skull is awesome. Just like Ron Perlman’s!!

Hubby: People are going to be concerned about you wanting to collect heads.

Me: I don’t want to collect heads. I just want to own his skull. THERE’S A DIFFERENCE!!*

Obviously I don’t actually want to own anyone’s skull. But I do enjoy mapping them to this day. It’s fun trying to extrapolate where a person originated from. And let’s face it: he is rather easy on the eyes as well. And he is definitely not the only one, either. Guy Pearce and Olivia Wilde are two others whose skulls are fascinating to me. But as with all skulls, I only admire from afar.

Because this obsession would look ridiculous on a restraining order 😉

*In case it isn’t obvious, this post is done in humor and should be taken in the manner intended. Otherwise you are a poopy head.

Growing up, my mom always told me to be mindful of people’s feelings. It wasn’t just a mean thing to do, but also a shocking breach of etiquette. But it always bothered me how being considerate of people’s feelings jarred against being honest, even when kind. I’m of the opinion that no one has a right to be offended, but also one should never be spiteful. There’s a meme that always rubs me the wrong way about this.

I get what that is trying to say: once you hurt someone, the damage can’t be repaired. But what it misses is that people have to get “damaged” in order to grow and mature. Facing adversity makes people stronger. The world isn’t going to save your feelings all the time. But in damage there can also be beauty.

This ancient Japanese tradition is based on the philosophy that things that have been broken can be made to be more beautiful than before. They have overcome adversity, and have a history and scars of what they have overcome. Just because something broke, it shouldn’t be discarded. So it is with people. Some of us are more damaged than others. But just because we are damaged doesn’t mean we are no longer needed or wanted. It is our responsibility to fill our breaks with gold, and become stronger for having been broken. No one else can do that for you.

A flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all. — The Emperor, Mulan

When you break, pick up the pieces and make them more beautiful. Show the world that you are no longer the same, but better. And you’ll be stronger for it 🙂

This past Sunday morning was rather uneventful as usual. Normally I get up and make myself my first of three cups of coffee, and sit down to read news from around the world. But I was feeling a bit overwhelmed with the State of Fear™ constantly bombarding my social and blog sites, so I decided to watch TV. I was hoping for some fun show where they completely demolish your kitchen/ bathroom/ house and rebuild it with some neat upgrades like a complete sound system in the shower or a wine dispenser in the kitchen.

Yes, they do make those.

Anyway, I was scrolling along and the next thing I see is a pair of Louboutin shoes on display on some show. I had to stop and look. Look, they were Louboutins, ok?? So I start watching two women discussing the pros and cons of buying that particular pair of studded Louboutins for a catering event and how one of the gals just HAD to get them in order to make a statement at said catering event. Then it turns out it was a commercial for some reality TV show, but before I could change it, ANOTHER reality TV show came on, and it was about a pack of wild hyenas group of well-to-do ladies (and I use that term loosely) from Melbourne, Australia called Real Housewives of Melbourne. Let me tell you, the only truth in that title is the name of the city. And so began my descent into the maelstrom of fake reality TV.

I picked up the storyline from the time Gal 1 decided to take all of them to an exclusive resort, where some of the others decided it was the opportune time to accuse her of talking behind their backs and Gal 1 AKA Barrister had enough and left them there, and Gal 2 AKA Switzerland called her to make sure she was ok, but the others ignored her, and then Gal 3 Mystic was scrambling to launch a cocktail line, but wanted a date with her hubby, so she and Gal 4 AKA Pilot went shopping at Agent Provocateur and spent $4,500 on a piece of lingerie, which her rocker hubby adored to the tune of $6,000 diamond earrings, while Gal 5 AKA Instigator is trying to fan the flames while trying to put them out between Barrister and Gal 6 AKA Plastic Barbie. So Barrister is being actively ostracized by all but Switzerland, and Mystic, who is keeping everyone at arms’ length because she comes from Newcastle and her mom is Russian and she has seen serious crap go down. And Plastic barbie is writing a book about how women can have it all (because that has never, ever been done) and is joining forces with Pilot who is also writing a book, but no one knows about what because she is too busy talking about her fantastic life and her fantastic dog. Then you have Switzerland trying to patch things up between Plastic Barbie and Barrister in a limo on the way to a special private opening of a new store from America called “West Elm”.

And this is where I lost it, yelling at the TV, “HA! I shop there you rich bimbos. You ain’t better than me!!”

And Hubby gave me a smile and a little pitying look right then.

Anyway, Switzerland is trying to make the peace by opening champagne and telling all of them this is some girl time to talk things out, because as normal people know, shopping is when women talk to each other. But then Plastic barbie gets it in her head to talk about Barrister RIGHT THERE and there is nothing Switzerland can do to mend the rifts, and Instigator full well owns up to having had a hand in it, and is cheered on by Pilot for being such a stand-up person, when in the real world a normal woman would have scratched her eyes out for being so duplicitous. So on to Mystic and her alcohol and she is by far the most normal of the Rich Pack. She doesn’t own a dog, but if she did, she wouldn’t subject it to dressing it up in costumes or taking it to a pooch party, which totally happened. Anyway she and rocker hubby are launching a new line of cocktails and she decides she doesn’t need the drama, so she steers as clear as one can while being followed around with cameras. Meanwhile Instigator and Switzerland confront Barrister to make her go apologize to Plastic Barbie, and that she needs to own up to what she had called Barbie and Pilot. So Barrister meets with Barbie and the amount of FAIL could only be measured on a Richter scale. Because as normal people know, women with chips on shoulders will never apologize when cameras are rolling. And so on to the end of this champagne-fueled train wreck, where the cocktail line is launching, and all the gals are in attendance for Mystic, while Barrister is actively ignored by Pilot and Barbie. The launch is a success, and at the end all six go sit to talk things out, and with drinks flowing and tongues wagging, it’s a miracle it was intelligible enough for closed-captioning. And still Barrister didn’t apologize, Pilot is still musing about a book, Barbie is still mad, Instigator is held at arms’ length, Switzerland has given up, and Mystic is as adjusted as a psychic married to a rock star and launching a cocktail line can be.

So I wasted my Sunday morning watching a bunch of pretentious women have cat fights on TV. Y’all didn’t think I was serious when I say I live a boring life, did you? Well, now you have proof 😀

I confess I have had a rough time finding topics for this blog. It’s not that there isn’t stuff out there on which I can bloviate. It’s just that sometimes I don’t have the motivation to write about pithy crap. This isn’t a serious blog, and I try to keep it light and full of fluff. There are days when that is sorely tested.

I see friends on social media come to cyberspace blows due to differences in opinion.

I see family over-react when they see a nebulous comment from a member.

I see tin foil and all-seeing eyes while people leave Occam’s awesome razor to rust.

I see hypocrisy thinly veiled as superiority.

But the thing I see most is people DEMANDING their right to be offended.

Last I checked, that wasn’t on the Bill of Rights, and it sure as Hades not endowed by our Creator. If you are offended by something, first take a minute to ask yourself why. Figure out the cause of the offense before you go off on someone who may not have the same grade of skin thickness that you do. If you don’t like what someone has posted, let your fingers do the walking and scroll right by. If you feel that someone’s opinion is making the delicate walls of your echo chamber quiver like Jell-O™, then by all means use that finger of yours and hide or delete the offending character. Getting into a CAPS LOCK match wastes everyone’s time, and you could possibly break a nail when pounding out your sensibilities.

My niece is getting married in May, and my nephew (her brother) will be getting married in October. Between joining the military, graduations from college, weddings, and family reunions, this year will be a banner year for the family. That also means attending wedding showers, graduation parties, bridal showers, but it does NOT mean attending bachelorette parties. I have a limit. I’m sure it will be fun. For them. It’s just not my thing.

Now, had it been a quilting bee, heck yeah!

Moving on, it got me to thinking about my wedding and the gifts I received. I was very lucky in that we received a lot of kitchen and bath stuff. But we did get some rather odd gifts that never even saw the light of day.

Wedding Gifts to Avoid

#5– Character appliances

We received a Mickey Mouse™ waffle iron as a wedding gift. It stayed in the box until I sold it in a garage sale. Twelve years later.

#4– Lawn equipment

Most times the first home is an apartment. And there is only so much space for a weed whacker.

#3– Artwork

Everyone’s tastes are different, and newlyweds will have enough work finding common ground without having to add Wharhol soup cans to it.

#2– Relationship books

No. Just no.

#1– Anything personalized

As wonderful as the thought may be, you are giving a gift that will be limited in use. A framed item is nice, but where would the personalized throw and the personalized candleholder end up?

I hope this helps some of y’all as we head into summer wedding season. If all else fails, cash is always a welcome gift.

I don’t care about a hoverboard. They short over water anyway. But there are some things I do want with the coming future.

A dryer that folds your clothes. Lost in Space had one. We’ve had over 50 years to come up with one and the only meaningful improvement on a dryer is the addition of wrinkle guard.

Over-the-counter codeine. Australia has it, for goodness’ sake! Then again everything there can kill you, so maybe that’s why.

Coffee I.V. Surely this is viable by now??

Instant nail color. Zorg’s secretar– I mean, administrative assistant had a gizmo in The Fifth Element that would change your nail color and had NO DRYING TIME. I’m tired of gnats landing on my nail polish before it’s dry.

If I had to pick just one of the above, I would be hard pressed between coffee I.V. and the dryer. I’m sure the dryer would win out after a few nanoseconds of thought on the matter. After all, there’s Keurig now, right?

You know, sometimes I am amazed at how old habits from my youth still persist on surfacing.

Yesterday I had the TV on in the background while I was cleaning up, and the new version of The Thing came on. Eh, it’s ok, but not really the type of movie I enjoy watching, so it’s a good thing I wasn’t really watching it. I didn’t even give it a thought, but then after it was over, John Carpenter’s The Thing came on.

The stuff of…what the screaming Hades IS that??

I tried. I really, really tried to change the channel. I just….couldn’t. I was frozen (heh!) to the screen as the story unfolded for the upteenth time. In my opinion, that is still one of the most frightening films ever made. Why? Not because of the Creature. Not because of the gore. Not because of the screaming and agony.

No. The reason that movie is so scary is the very last scene. After MacReady (Kurt Russell) blows up the Creature and the whole area, he is sitting outside, and Childs (Keith David) walks up. And as they speak I notice one detail: MacReady’s breath fogs, but Childs’ doesn’t!!!! And the last lines say a lot, too:

Childs: What do we do?

MacReady: Why don’t we just wait here for a while… see what happens.

I know now that HE knows, and that just scares the life out of me. Every. Single. Time. I should know better than to watch a John Carpenter movie. They never end well.

Anyway, the evening comes to an end, and we all prepare for bed, and as I lay there waiting for sleep to come, I picture the entire movie in my head once again, and feel anxiety starting to rise, and fear gripping my chest, and so I do what every single normal kid has done to ward off those hellish visions of doom.

I cover my head with my blanket and feel myself relax, the fear subside, and all’s right with my world.

Because every kid knows: a blanket can take on every monster and creature single-handed. It works every time 😉

This morning I was watching the news, when the anchor made mention of a “language gene“.

Oooooh…. SCIENCE!! I knew about the discovery (about ten years old now), but apparently there was a new twist to it. My ears perked up to listen, and I was not disappointed.

According to scientists, women speak “about 20,000 words a day – some 13,000 more than the average man.” Yes, yes… I asked the same question:

IS THAT ALL??

According to science studies, women have more of the Foxp2 protein than men do. That’s the “language protein”. Apparently, the more you have, the more you gab. I don’t have much of it, but according to Hubby, Little One makes up more than my lack. So ladies, take it easy on your guy. He has a tough time keeping up with everything we say, not because he doesn’t care, but because there’s so much of it!!

So far, no studies have found men to have a “listening gene” as yet. And I am willing to bet that even if such a gene existed, the scientific community would never, ever admit it 😉

I will never learn. Probably because that would mean giving up cake and that’s just never going to happen.

Last night after dinner, Hubby and I had some of his birthday cake: white chocolate with raspberry filling. To. Die. For. Apparently, I didn’t have nearly enough to satisfy my sweet tooth, because after he went to bed, I had another slice, while listening to Warren Zevon. And the dream which resulted from that smash-up was epic!

I was in Pittsburgh, no idea why, but for some reason I was at a Trader Vic’s discussing the merits of Rolling Rock™, and how Yuengling™ wasn’t as good as Shiner™. And I was sitting at the table with none other than my friend Soylent Green, (NSFW!!!!) who was dressed as a dentist for some odd reason, and he was yelling at me about how uncouth I was for liking my Southern libation, instead of the Northern ones, to which I told him that he needed to get his Novocaine™ out of his…. derriére and expand his horizons, and as the yelling match grew out of proportions Trader Vic came over to let us know that the werewolves were getting annoyed and Soylent takes his glass and yells at them to order Domino’s Pizza™. Then the werewolves came over and Trader Vic said that the leader would just tear our lungs out, and I said fine, but they had to settle the argument about Shiner versus Yuengling before they even took a bite.